Fiction

There were two children in summer who would walk everyday, when the moon was right, across the sandbar to the kissing trees. They walked with hair that disguised them from above as moving dots of blonde sand.

The flowers died on a Monday.

I am that dance across the forest floor when the wind comes, and I am hidden away under the grasses as the field sways, soft and warm from the sun like any fine bed.

It was love. It was love and you were sure of it, dreadful of the blooming cavity in your heart, filling and sinking like an inconsistent tide. It washed over you, dragging in fragmented images of her.

I love post-script, thought Benvolio as he sat curled in his favorite armchair.  His favorite music was humming through his airpods into his ears, and as he watched raindrops gather and drip down the windowpane, he fel

I remember the sun perched at the very top of the tree—too still, too watchful—like it had been waiting for me long before I ever looked up. Its light wasn’t warm the way it should’ve been; it felt focused, intentional… like a gaze.

When I was young, I lived in the countryside, nestled safely within a regrowth town along the coastline.

Chapter One: 

1362AD

Prologue: I stared at the computer screen. Word after word after word. This thing drove me nuts. What good was trying to write a book anyway? So what, if the perfect book is not written, you must write it?” It was just too hard.

“Hey, Emma, just wanted to make sure you made it home alright today. Also, you’re going to have to take a different highway to get to Mom and Dad’s house. There was a crash on 78 last night, probably because of the storm.

Naomi was sitting on her horse, Rosie, letting Rosie graze for a little bit to take a break after a long riding session. Her younger sister Kylee comes riding up beside her yelling “A MOTORCYCLIST JUST CRASHED UP THE ROAD.”

Chapter two ~ Leo

Ivanna walks out and I swear my heart skips a beat or five, then makes up for it by beating over time.